For whom the telephone rings
by luna8
Summary: Me daydreaming again...
1. Default Chapter

Yah! Reading break! Am I hitting the books? nope :P

Add the usual "this is a non-profit organization"

And I apologize to all the wonderful members of the police force – I needed some bad guys.

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God she hated her job! Particularly during assignments like this one. She was in Chicago, assigned to helping the city police track down a serial killer. The latest freak was picking up prostitutes, raping them multiple times, butchering them and leaving the bodies in public parks. So far, they had four bodies. The F.B.I. had been notified when the third body had turned up. She had been shipped out a week ago, and the problems just kept rolling in. Everything from contaminated evidence, to misplaced paper work. Not to mention the shity behavior she'd been dealing with from the local cops. They questioned her every request until she'd had to resort to ordering people around, which she knew was no way to make friends.

She was staying in a shoddy hotel, living out of a suitcase, and driving a piece of crap rental car. And she'd only been here a week. It promised to be a very long assignment. The fourth body had been found this morning by a bunch of kids playing softball in a park. Someone had hit a home run, and the resulting search for the ball had turned up a body instead. She told them to close down the crime scene to everyone until she could get there. Once there she had gone in and worked beside the forensics team gathering evidence. The forensics guys had been resentful of her presence, but there would be no more contamination, even if she had to work every crime scene herself. She spent a full hour dealing with horrified parents, crying kids, and the ever-present press. She felt terrible for the kids – the body had been grisly. Regular people should only have to experience stuff like that at the movies. They needed to catch this jerk before anymore innocent people were victimized by his horror.

She'd spent the afternoon on the phone to her boss at Quanitco, trying to explain what she was up against. All he'd said was that he could assign someone else. She'd politely declined. Like she was going to let them take this away from her; it was the only decent assignment she'd had since the fiasco at the lake house. Thoughts of that night made her grind her teeth. Another of the doctor's bloody games had wiped out the last ten years of her life. After the board of inquiry decided that she wasn't responsible for what had happened after the barn, she'd been dumped back in the F.B.I.'s lap. There, she'd been treated like a rookie who didn't know her gun from her… thinking of Brigham made her smile. She was seriously considering resigning and starting up her own security company. She'd talked about with Ardelia, who had never come back off of mat leave, and Ardelia had been all for it. Clarice wondered why she couldn't have a nice normal life like her best friend. Oh ya, she was girl that stole the cannibal's heart. That was another thing Lecter had to answer for – her social life had seriously taken the deep six after all the publicity she'd received in the Tattler. No sane guy wanted to be seen within twenty yards of her anymore. And as for the insane one's, well she'd been on the receiving end of some rather unique pick up lines; another agent had asked her 'You wanna come to my place for dinner? I promise I'm a vegitarian!' She still chuckled over that one.

She left her temporary office for the evening and started to walk down the street as she had for the past week. The stupid Chicago PD couldn't even give her a parking spot; she had to walk three blocks to a parking garage, but she was to tired to fight over the little things. She was almost at the corner when the light changed. Shaking her head in disgust, she almost jumped when the pay phone right next to her rang. She looked around and saw no one in the vicinity to answer it. It was probably a wrong number, and she should just ignore it. She tilted her head contemplating the phone as it continued to ring. She vaguely remembered a movie where the girl had picked up a wrong number on a pay phone, and the guy on the other end had turned out to be her true love. Clarice smiled, why the hell not? You never knew; maybe it was her prince charming calling. She could use a little tall, dark, and handsome in her life right now. She picked up the phone and answered "Hello?"

"Well, hello Clarice…" the smoke and ashes voice said on the other side.

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You were expecting something other than a cliffhanger? Tisk, tisk… actually I have no idea where this one is going so any and all plot suggestions would be welcome, thnx luna.


	2. Conversation

I've got half my chem assignment done – that's good right? :P

Add the usual "damn I wish they were mine, but they're not"

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"Doctor Lecter," the name left Clarice's lips in a rush.

"It's been quite a while since we talked hasn't it?" he replied. 'Not long enough' she was tempted to say but didn't. The thought made her smile as she leaned against the glass of the phone booth.

"I wouldn't lean there if I was you, Clarice. You never know who has frequented such a public place," the doctor advised and Clarice automatically righted her posture with a sigh. A moment later she went rigid with realization. If he could see her… She scanned the surrounding area until her gaze came to rest on a man leaning casually against the brick wall of the building across from her. He was wearing a dark three-quarter length coat over a business suit. He was wearing sunglasses and a black fedora. He was talking on a cell phone. As she gazed at the man, he raised his left hand, in a casual salute to the brim of his hat. He chuckled at Clarice's sharply in drawn breath.

"Don't give it another thought," he said referring to his unmarked hand. The man was quite a magician. Tall, dark and handsome indeed! Be careful what you wish for, Clarice admonished herself, you just might get it. She was unwilling to examine the deeper truth behind that warning at the moment, so she pushed the thought aside as she asked him a rather redundant question.

"What are you doing here doctor?" It seemed that sociopath were multiplying in the city of Chicago.

"Why, I'm just checking up on one of my favourite patients. How's the shoulder?" he quipped.

"Fine, thank you," Clarice felt she owed him that much.

"Good," a pause then, "You sound tired, Clarice. Having trouble at work?" he asked, knowing full well what was going on.

"You could say that," she replied, frantically scrambling to figure out where this conversation was going and how she could get across the street to him. Once she got over there she wasn't exactly sure what she would do, but getting over there was definitely a priority.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he invited.

"No," she said bluntly and then mentally kicked herself. He chuckled in response to her bluntness. The sound made her shiver, why she wasn't sure.

"Another round of quid pro quo then, perhaps? What do you want to know, Clarice?" The way he said her name warned her that she should be careful about the questions she asked. Careful had never been her style though; she asked the question that was foremost on her mind.

"Will you stay put until I can get across the street?"

"So you can slap your cuffs on me again? I don't think so, my dear. As enjoyable as our last experience was, I'd hesitate to repeat in such a public venue," his tone made her go weak in the knees and she leaned against the phone booth again. She heard what she thought was a hiss of breath as the doctor watched her reaction to his words. A quiet hum of satisfaction warned her that he was going to play without the gloves on this time around. That did not bode well for her mental stability.

"Your turn," he prompted after a moment, returning the conversation to his previous question.

"I can't catch this bastard!" she snarled thinking of the kids in the park that morning, and not bothering to fill in more details. She knew that he probably knew more than she did.

"You're more right than you know," the doctor commented enigmatically. He was telling her that she wasn't going to be able to catch this guy? Damn! Not him too!

"Let me give you some free advice," he continued. "Be careful with this one, Clarice. I don't like what I see."

"What do you see, doctor?" she asked hopefully. The doctor chuckled again at her tone so like that of their meeting in Memphis.

"That's going to cost you more than a phone call, Clarice," he told her in a tone full of promise. "Now, I'm afraid I have to run. Ta ta," and then he was gone. 

Clarice dropped the phone and ran for the crosswalk just as the light changed in the right direction. She raced across the street but he was no where in sight by the time she reached the other side. Her heart pounding and her face flushed, she sighed deeply in defeat. How did he just disappear like that? That was another question for their next conversation, and she had no doubt there would be another. She felt much more energetic as she headed for her car. It was too bad she wasn't slightly more observant or she would have glanced behind her to see the man standing in the phone booth watching her walk away. He picked up the dangling phone and wiped the receiver with his handkerchief, before hanging it up. He lifted the square of silk to his nose before putting it back in his pocket and walking in the other direction towards his car. He hoped Clarice heeded his warning, but he would be watching in the event that she didn't.

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Still trying to come up with a plot…Help? luna


	3. Back at the hotel

Thanks to chameleon for the help, we'll have to see where it takes us.

Add the usual "his not mine"

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When Clarice arrived back at her hotel, she dumped her briefcase on the bed and plopped into a chair. Shaking her head at the unlikelihood of the day's events, she kicked off her heels and massaged the sole of her left foot. While desperately searching for one mass murderer, she ran into a different one. Maybe if she started looking for Dr. Lecter, she would stumble on the "Prostitute Predator." Somebody on the staff of the Tattler was an alliterative overachiever, she mused tiredly as she changed feet.

Those thoughts brought her back to her conversation with the doctor. She pondered briefly why she hadn't run straight back to the police station and reported the contact. Probably because they wouldn't believe her, and she didn't have the energy required to convince them. Yep, that was her answer and she was sticking to it. 

She stood and carefully hung her suit up on one of the theft proof hangers that were complementary with the room. She moved into the bathroom longing for a long, hot bath, but one look at the grungy tub showed her the wisdom of a shower instead. What she wouldn't give to be home right now, she thought as she stepped under the hot water. This assignment was supposed to be important for her career, but she couldn't muster much of the old fire. Of course, she still wanted to get the bad guy, but ridding the world of injustice had ceased to be her sole responsibility. She was old and getting older, tired beyond words, and really didn't have a whole lot to show for her life that meant anything to her. Sure there was the media coverage, both good and bad, but that didn't matter to her. She had no family and few friends and she was beginning to wonder what the point of it all was. Clinically she knew she was beginning to show symptoms of depression, but she refused to let it get to her. Maybe if she just kept herself busy it would go away. Yep, she should just keep believing that, she thought sarcastically as she reached for a towel. 

Not bothering to dry her hair, she pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers and headed for bed. She was going to have to be up early the next day, but she had no enthusiasm for returning to questioning room she had taken over as an office. Only the thought that she might get another phone call put a small smile on her face as she drifted off to sleep.

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In another part of the city, Doctor Lecter was dressed in black silk pajamas, reclining in the opulent surroundings of his own hotel room. He appeared to be staring absently out the window, but his mind was moving at an incredible pace as he tried to quantify the newest of Clarice's cases. There was something wrong with the whole picture that he couldn't identify. He knew the person was a heterosexual, white male in his early forties, and yet there was something distinctly feminine about the way the bodies had been carved up. He'd wandered into the police station and borrowed a copy of the case file three days ago. He wondered if Clarice had noted its absence as he glanced down at the folder spread over his lap. He'd taken the folder on a whim, but was glad he had done so. There was something slightly familiar about the "Prostitute Predator" that he couldn't quite pin down. 

He moved into his memory palace, to the room where he kept his old patients, and studiously went through each one. When he came to Robert Fitzsimmons he stopped, and reviewed the memories that went with the name. The man had been sent to him after being arrested for picking up prostitutes on several occasions. Robert certainly fit the profile the doctor had put together from the little evidence that was presented in the file, and yet he didn't think Fitzsimmons was capable of killing. The man was certainly capable of aiding and abetting a killer, but the doctor knew with certainty that the man didn't have the mental fortitude required to take a life. That meant there was more than one person involved. It was an unlikely scenario, but it had been seen before in the Manson case. It would also explain the inconsistencies he saw in his profile of the killer. So who else was involved? That was a question he couldn't answer at the moment. He decided to let his mind work on the problem without his consciousness getting in the way. He folded the file folder and put it on the table beside his chair. He stood and walked panther-like into the adjoining bedroom. After tuning off the light and settling into bed, he lay with his hands behind his head and looked up at the darkened ceiling. He decided he would go shopping tomorrow. Clarice was probably missing the few comforts her home offered, and she needed her mind completely on the case if she was going to solve it. He wasn't worried about his own safety, he knew Clarice hadn't reported their phone call; it would have been all over the evening news if she had. However, something was bothering him in connection with her safety and the case she was working on. It frustrated him that he couldn't find the missing piece of the puzzle, but he knew better than to try to force it. He would just have to trust that his little warrior could take care of herself for the time being. He might 'bump' into her tomorrow morning just to see how she had fared the night. His eyes closed slowly on that pleasant thought.

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The next morning Clarice made her way across the street towards the station, after picking up her sacrifice to the god that was Starbucks. Purse slung over her shoulder and coffee and briefcase in hand there was little she could do to avoid the jostling crowd. So intent was on getting across the street without spilling her coffee that she didn't see the man in the navy blue business suit until she walked smack into him. A mumbled apology as she moved around him and then she was walking down the sidewalk again. She didn't notice until much later that day, that her hotel key had disappeared from her purse.

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Well there we have it. Not to bad for something that was a PWP up until this morning.

More soon I promise – I want to find out how it's going to end too. luna.


	4. The switch

Add the usual "it's not worth suing me, cuz I'm not making any money off of this"

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As Clarice trudged wearily down the hall from the elevator, she dug absently around in her purse for her room key. It had been another day of no leads, but it had also been a day without new bodies. She supposed she should be thankful for small mercies. As she reached the door to her room she set her brief case on the floor so she could hold her purse up to the light with one hand and rummage with the other. No key. She was sure she had put it in her bag that morning, but she might just as easily have left it on the dresser by the door. With a weary sigh she picked up her brief case again and did a slow about face back to the elevator. Once she had produced the proper id, the young man handed her a second room key, along with a good view of his tonsils as he yawned at her. She shook her head as she made for the elevator for the second time in fifteen minutes. Once again on her floor with the key firmly clutched in her hand, she was fully prepared to drop everything on the floor and collapse on the bed.

On opening her door, however, she jolted wide-awake. Standing on the dresser next to her room key was a vase of roses and an envelope. Even form the door she could see her first name penned in neat copperplate script. He'd been in her room.

Her mind flashed to the man she had bumped into that morning in her haste to get across the street. Little details came back with the memory that she had ignored at the time. The flash of a smile, the smell of cologne and the fact that her purse had been hanging on the shoulder he had bumped into. HANNIBAL LECTER WAS A PICKPOCKET!!

She started to laugh as she closed the door. She supposed it was a handy skill for him to have but still, the thought of him lowering himself to the level of a common pickpocket was very amusing. She sobered rather quickly when she realized that she had walked right into the F.B.I.'s most wanted man and hadn't even noticed. It didn't say to much for her powers of perception, and she wondered for a moment if perhaps she was loosing her touch. Maybe she did need to turn this case over to someone else; catching the 'Predator' was far more important that her ego.

She put her briefcase and purse down on the bed, and contemplated the writing on the envelope again, before she picked it up and slit the heavy paper open with her thumb. Carefully unfolding the single sheet, she scolded the little voice in her head that was telling her to report in. She didn't need anymore interference from the bureau than she already had. The fact that a cannibalistic serial killer had been in her hotel room and that she should be calling to ask for protection didn't even cross her mind.

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Dear Clarice,

You are probably kicking yourself right now for not noticing who 'bumped' into you this morning, but please, don't be to hard on yourself. You didn't report in to headquarters after our little phone conversation. I wonder why. Are you worried that they might take your current case away from you? That they might think you can't handle two 'psychos' at the same time? It might not be a bad idea to let someone else take the 'Predator' case for you. You seemed very tired this morning as you trudged along with your coffee. So tired that you didn't even notice when you bumped into the FBI's most wanted man. Telling, isn't it Clarice?

How did he always know what she was thinking – or going to think?

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Although I suggest that you drop this one in someone else's lap, I know you won't. Stubborn girl.

Damn Right!

In your doctor's opinion, you aren't taking care of yourself well enough. Since when had he become her personal physician? Therefore, in an effort to help you relax and catch up on some much-needed rest I took the liberty of purchasing a few things for you. You'll find them in the bathroom. 

Presents? She gave a little jump and turned for the bathroom.

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No, wait and finish reading this first.

She stopped, but the expression on her face was that of a little girl who had just been told she had to eat her vegetables before she could have dessert.
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I found some lovely almond bubble bath for you, but upon inspection of the bathtub, in your rather deplorable accommodations, I decided that you wouldn't be able to use it. I suspect you have come to the same conclusion and are probably longing for a good soak after a tiring week of showers. I would invite you to come and enjoy the bathroom in my accommodations but I'm not sure I can trust you that far. You might decide that capturing one criminal is as good as another, and I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of your handcuffs again. At least not in that particular scenario. I suppose you'll just have to wait for your bath, but how long will you wait I wonder? How long will you continue to serve your masters at the FBI with such devotion that you neglect even your own creature comforts? Enjoy your evening, and try to forget about work for a while. Doctor's orders.

H.

Clarice moaned aloud at the thought of a bath as she raced into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, her eyes opened wide at what she saw. On top of the toilet was a stack of big white towels, about three times as thick as the rags the hotel provided. Neatly folded on top were a pair of royal blue silk pajamas. She absently ran her hand over the beautiful fabric, as she read the labels of all the bottles arranged on the counter. There was hand cream, body scrub and perfume. Shampoo and conditioner along with scented soap, rested on the tub ledge. Everything she could possibly need to pamper herself with. There were scented candles and a small box of imported chocolates. Lying next to the sink was a c.d. of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Dr. Lecter had certainly gone all out.

Her glance fell on the bottle of bubble bath he had mentioned in his letter, and she opened the bottle to inhale its wonderful scent. She looked longingly at the scuzzy tub. She looked at his letter again, thinking that it was rather mean of him to give her something she couldn't use. She didn't want to wait to enjoy her gifts. Maybe she should check into a nice hotel just for tonight and cover the cost difference herself. She was sure that he was staying in a five star hotel and she would hand over her handcuffs right now if he would let her borrow just the bathroom. But wasn't that what he had said? He'd invite her over if he was sure he could trust her. She reread the last part of the note – it was a little odd. Then his meaning clicked. Get her to forget about work by concentrating on finding him. The doctor was nothing if not subtle.

She laughed as she plugged her laptop into the phone jack. Quickly accessing the FBI database that she had set up to keep track of credit card purchases, she searched the five star hotels in the Chicago area. She hoped that this didn't count as work. There were 6 doctors staying in hotels at the moment. One name jumped of the list at her. Dr. Bill Graham. It couldn't be could it? It was extremely obvious. The doctor had said that he didn't trust her, and he never lied. He wouldn't make it that easy to find him, would he? Could it be a coincidence? Probably not. So what game was he playing? Of course! How did he get her to relax in comfort without giving himself away? Rent another room under an obvious name. She gets her bath, and he may or may not stop in for a visit. Well, two could play that game. 

She studied the rest of the list. Two of the doctors were staying with their wives and two of them were female – so unless the doctor had started cross-dressing, her man was Dr. Albert Sullivan. Clarice laughed at her whimsy as she shut off her computer. She gathered her gifts together in a large shopping bag, and grabbed her purse. She paused as she considered her gun and her handcuffs. As much fun as she was having, she couldn't forget who the doctor was. She wasn't about to cross the line between being foolish and being stupid. She strapped the gun to her side and threw the cuffs in her purse. After making sure that she had her room key, she once again headed for the lobby.

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Dr. Lecter reclined in the comfort of the hotel room he had taken across town from his own. He had been waiting for Clarice to show up for more than an hour now, and was beginning to wonder if he had been too subtle with his note. The thought that she may have reported his presence to her superiors briefly crossed his mind. He negated it with a shake of his head. She couldn't report in if she wanted to keep her current case. He knew it was her first serious field assignment since their time at the lake, and that she wouldn't jeopardize it. He had thought she would understand his hidden invitation, but on the other hand, she was tired. A quick phone call would remedy the situation. He let the phone ring for several moments before he hung up. She wasn't in her room, which meant that she was probably on her way. He settled back to wait for his little Starling to make an appearance.

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On the way to the doctor's hotel, Clarice had struggled with a way to get her hands on his room key without having to flash her badge. She still hadn't come up with any ideas by the time she gave her keys to the valet outside the revolving doors of the hotel. She made her way over the lush carpet to the oak front desk. Standing smartly behind it was a young girl, with a badge pinned to her uniform that read "I'm in training." Clarice mustered her best smile as an idea came to her.

"Hi, how may I help you?" the girl asked in a friendly manner as Clarice approached the desk.

"Hi," Clarice responded, "I split up with my husband this afternoon in order to do some shopping, and he has our room key," Clarice explained as she rested her shopping bag on the counter for evidence.

"We weren't supposed to meet back here for another hour, but my feet were killing me. Could I get another key?"

"Certainly!" the girl replied, overeager to help. "What room are you staying in?"

"6459," Clarice replied, wondering suddenly what she was going to do if the girl asked for id. She didn't have to worry. The girl promptly handed over a key card coded to the doctor's room. "Thank you," Clarice smiled, thankful that the girl hadn't had her security training yet. She walked quickly to the bank of elevators and ascended to the sixth floor.

She paused outside his door and considered her options. She didn't want to just burst in on him, that would be very rude, and she knew, all to well, what happened to the rude. She also wasn't one hundred percent sure that she had the right doctor. She knocked quietly twice, and then decided it would be safe to use the key. She opened the door and called a soft hello just in case. Whoever the room belonged to was out. She stepped inside and shut the door before putting her bag down and moving through the suite of rooms. She found her missing case file lying on a small table, which confirmed that she was in the right room. She shook her head at the doctor's audacity. He would have had to walk right into the police station to get the file. She grumbled at the incompetent that had left it lying around for anyone to pick up.

She gasped as she walked into the bathroom. It was one hundred and fifty square feet of white marble heaven. She rushed back to the door and scooped up her bag. She shut the door and locked it just in case the doctor came back unexpectedly, but she was sure he was in Dr. Graham's hotel room waiting for her. She laughed as she realized she'd outsmarted the doctor at his own game. She ran the huge tub up to brim with lots of hot water and added a generous amount of the almond bubble bath. For the next two hours, she proceeded to pamper herself just as the doctor had ordered. She didn't think about the incongruity of enjoying the doctor's bathing facilities, when she should be out arresting him. Somewhere along the way, the doctor had ceased to be the bad guy. Eventually she stepped from the tub and dried herself off with the big fluffy towels. She rubbed on some of the body lotion he had given her, before donning the silk pajamas. She had never felt this good. She walked to the bathroom door and opened it cautiously, wondering if the doctor had returned. Her soft inquiry was met with silence. She pushed the door closed again and began to dry her hair.

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After waiting for Clarice for two and a half hours the doctor finally gave up and returned to his own hotel. He was disappointed and slightly worried about Clarice. He thought about stopping by her hotel again but had decided that was pushing a tad obsessive. Agent Starling was a big girl, he reminded himself, and could look after herself; most of the time, he corrected himself with a smile. As pushed the door opened to his room he caught an unfamiliar scent and he was immediately wary. The Harpy hidden in his coat sleeve slid almost magically into his hand. He slipped into the room and eased the door shut. The whole place smelled like almonds, and underneath he detected the unmistakable scent of Clarice. She was here! He sheathed the Harpy and made his way silently towards the light he could see under the bathroom door. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked and it swung open with ease.

The bathroom was empty, as was the rest of his suite. As he walked by the table that the case file rested on, he noticed that the folder was left slightly open. He lifted the cover to reveal a pair of handcuffs gleaming dully in the soft light. His entire being stilled as he tried to process his astonishment. She had left him her handcuffs. She had played his game better than he had, taken up his invitation and left him her handcuffs. He wondered if she realized that this was the sign of trust he was looking for from her, or if it was her subconscious talking to him again.

Hannibal Lecter twirled the handcuffs around one finger and smiled as he headed for the bathroom that Clarice Starling had vacated not twenty minutes before. It certainly was something to know her in private life.

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Well, there's chpt. 3 – midterms this week again ugh!! So prolly nothing more for a week or so. Thanks for the great reviews, luna.


	5. Thought

A little something to tide you folks over. I thought of asking if I could make up my midterms after I finished this, but figured my profs would think that rude, and we all know what that word entrails (pun intended).

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When Clarice came out of the bathroom she had sat in the chair by the small table and found herself surrounded by the doctor's scent. Clean and masculine, it was a mix of sandalwood and other things her untrained nose couldn't identify. It was powerful and she began to squirm in the chair thinking about what might happen when he returned. Perhaps waiting for him wasn't the smartest idea. Invading his private space, even if she did have an invitation, was rather rude in his absence. The longer she sat inhaling his unique scent the more unsure she became. 

After a few moments of silent squirming she jumped up and threw her things, wet towels and all, back in her bag. She held up her slacks to her line of sight but couldn't face taking off the luxurious pajamas to put on her clothes again. With a smirk, she shoved her work clothes in the bag too, and put her coat on over top of the pajamas. She grabbed her purse and was about to leave when she realized she couldn't go without leaving him some sign of her appreciation. She thought about leaving him a note, but knew she didn't express herself on paper as well as he did. Her writing skills seemed to be limited to reports and briefs; she couldn't even remember the last time she had scribbled a letter. What could she leave him? She rummaged in her purse as an idea came to her. She retrieved her handcuffs and put them inside the case file. He would understand what she meant wouldn't he? Stupid question Starling! she thought as she headed out the door.

By the time she got back to her room, the relaxing effects of her bath had started to wear off. She climbed into bed, turned out the light and proceeded to toss and turn. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the lumpy mattress keeping her awake. She started to consider what she had just done and question her motives. The doctor's question came floating back to her. Why hadn't she reported in? I wonder too, doctor, she thought. Her convictions had seemed so strong at the lake house. She had known what was expected from her and she had fulfilled her duty to the best of her ability. The problem she decided was that she had done what the bureau expected of her, and even then, they hadn't agreed that she had done her best. Would she forever be trying to live up to their unattainable expectations? She sighed without a definite answer.

All right, what had he expected from her? That one left her even more stumped that the last. The ultimate question, she decided, was what had she expected from herself? And had those expectations changed since then? She didn't think her expectations of herself had changed, but that was more of a nebulous feeling than a solid conclusion. She didn't even know where to start in quantifying those expectations. She rolled over on her back and through an arm over her eyes. She should have stayed at the doctor's if she was going to make herself go through a serious session of soul searching. All she knew was that she hadn't fulfilled her duty as an F.B.I. agent this evening, yet she didn't feel guilty. She acknowledged that she did not intend to arrest the doctor, unless he harmed someone. She could deal with more than one 'psycho,' but not more than one butcher.

Having reached a conclusion about her future plan of action, if not her present emotional state, Clarice rolled over again. Lying on her stomach, she was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang. She leaned over to pick up the receiver and uttered a muffled hello.

"Agent Starling, this is Inspector Copeland, we've got another body for you," the man's voice told her, as if he had a birthday gift for her.

"Shit," she muttered not sure exactly what or whom she was referring to. "I'm on my way," she after rolling out of bed and scribbling directions to another park on the pad by the phone. She through on some jeans and a sweater, grabbed her purse and strapped on her gun. So much for an evening away from work, she thought, as she rushed out the door.

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Dr. Lecter woke with a start as his mind finally pieced together the anomalous puzzle of the 'Predator.' Dr. Lecter rolled out of bed and began pulling on his clothes. Clarice needed to know what she was dealing with and she needed to know now. He grabbed her handcuffs of the table on his way out the door.

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I know Clarice's current mindset about the doctor is a bit of a stretch, but I was thinking she has more of a gradual realization than an epiphany. As always, thanks for the encouraging reviews, luna.


	6. Denmark

Yah, for homework avoidance – it's the only reason I'm writing this.

Add the usual 'copyright infringement not intended'

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When Doctor Lecter arrived at Clarice's door, there was no answer to his knock. It was a simple matter to open the door with the copy of her room card he had secured earlier that day. He walked into an empty room. The light on the bedside table was left on. The pajama's he had given her were lying in a heap on the bed. He lifted them to his nose briefly before he folded them neatly. Where had she gone? The only thing that would have gotten her out of bed at this time of night was another body. A phone call would have woken her up, he thought as he traced his finger over the handset of the phone. They would have given her directions, that she probably would have written down. He found the pad and pen on the floor by the bed, where they'd fallen. He held the pad to the light at and angle and read the address of the park from the shadows made by the impression of the ballpoint pen. Cheap writing implements had their uses occasionally, he thought with a smile, as he headed out the door.

______________

The flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars surrounding the east side of the small residential park reminded Clarice of fireworks. She pulled her car up next to one of them and then had to argue with an officer over her right to enter the crime scene. When she finally got under the yellow, crime scene tape, she was pleased with what she saw. The body had been covered and the forensics team was already doing their thing. With her trained eye Clarice could see they were getting it right. She made her way over to where Inspector Copeland was talking into his radio. He glanced up with a greasy smile as she approached him. He clipped the radio back on his belt and gave her the once over.

"Dressing down are we, Agent?" he said staring at her chest.

"It's two o'clock in the morning inspector," Clarice said as if he were a small child. "What do you have?" The man coughed before swinging around to point at the tarp covering the body.

"Another victim over there, same MO. Four witnesses, all over with Sgt. Williams. Appears the older couple were out walking, heading south when they saw the body, in those bushes there. The younger couple was coming along in the other direction and came across the first couple and the body about the same time. No sign of the 'Predator,'" he finished out of breath after this short speech. "Do you wanna see the body?" he asked with a gleam in his eye.

"No," Starling answered shortly as she turned and made her way towards the officer who was taking statements from the two couples. "Agent Starling, F.B.I." she identified herself, as she approached. She motioned the older couple to step away from the others for a moment. The woman was petite, with short brown hair; her husband was big and fair. He was making no effort to hide his appraising looks of Starling even though his wife was standing right beside him. She seemed completely oblivious.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Starling asked pulling her coat closer to try to distract the man.

"We've already told the other officer and we would really like to get home," the woman answered shortly.

"Yes, I understand, and I wont keep you for long," Starling answered firmly. With a resigned sigh, the woman recounted how she and her husband were out walking and found the body lying in the bushes. They could tell the woman was dead, so when the other couple came upon them they used the girl's cell phone to call the police rather than an ambulance. The woman's husband didn't say anything, but neither did he take his eyes from Starling's body. Clarice could hear the doctor talking about coveting in her mind, but she pushed the memories away. She needed to concentrate on her job. She nodded her thanks to the couple, and asked them to return to the other officer.

Clarice walked over to where the other couple was standing. The girl was visibly upset, so it was the young guy who answered Starling's questions. He said that the pair had gone for a walk, to have some time alone, and when they came around the edge of the bushes, they saw the other couple and the body. The woman was standing back and the man was bent over the body, checking for a pulse. The woman had asked if either one of them had a phone, and could they please call the police. He had used his girlfriend's cell to make the call; he finished with a shrug, while awkwardly trying to comfort the girl. Clarice asked if they would like a ride home and the guy gratefully accepted. Clarice called to one of the other officers, and had it arranged. Then she turned to gaze over the crime scene. Something wasn't right but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Do you wanna see the body now?" A voice whispered loudly in her ear. Inspector Copeland was standing right behind her.

"No," Starling snapped and moved up the path in the direction the younger couple had been coming from. When she reached the top of the small rise, she turned and looked back at the crime scene. She had an unobstructed view of the path for quite a distance in the other direction, but she couldn't see where the body was laying. The younger couple wouldn't have seen it until they were right up close. They should have seen the other couple walking towards them, and yet the boy had said they saw the couple and the body at the same time. Clarice began a leisurely stroll down the path and timed her walk on her watch. It took her nine minutes and thirty-two seconds to reach the bushes where the body lay. That meant that the older couple had moved behind the foliage before the younger couple crested the hill. What could they have been doing for almost ten minutes? Somebody wasn't telling the truth, and her instinct told her it was the older woman. Clarice was about to head for her car, when Copeland grabbed her arm.

"Don't you wanna look at the body at all?" he asked with a sneer. At one time Clarice would have battled the derision and tried to prove her worth. Now she was just too tired.

"My examination will be better completed in the morgue," she said, shaking off the man's hand. "Right now, I need to question the older couple again," she ordered tersely.

"We let them go home," Copeland said with a patronizing smile.

"Then give me their address from the witness statement," Clarice hissed, taking the documents out of his hands. She scribbled the name and address down on a scrap of paper from her purse and then handed the clipboard back to Copeland.

"You going there now? What for? Can't it wait 'til morning?" he asked derisively.

"Yup," was all Clarice said as she walked away. Once she was safely seated behind the steering wheel of her car, she glanced at the address, before putting the car in gear:

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Fitzsimmons, 3456 Maple St.

____________

Next chpt. soon. Promise! luna.


	7. whips and chains

Sorry this took longer that promised – I kinda got stuck. This is the unfortunate product of watching Indiana Jones while overtired and hyper on peach slices. You've been warned.

As always – The really good characters aren't mine, those that are mine won't be borrowable after I'm done with them anyway.

____________

When Clarice pulled up in front of the modest bungalow located at 3456 Maple Street, she was glad to see lights on in the living room. She parked her car across the road, and walked across the grass to the front door. As she reached for the doorbell, she saw a small neatly printed sign that said "Please knock – the bell is broken." Opening the screen door, Clarice knocked twice on the wooden door. She heard footsteps in the hall and didn't know whether or not to be glad that it was Mr. Fitzsimmons who answered. At least he invited her in. She ignored the hand that brushed her backside as he closed the door behind her. He motioned her to precede him into the living room, where there was a late night horror movie playing quietly on the tv. Clarice thought it was slightly odd that someone who had just witnessed real horror up close, would choose to watch it on tv. Her thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Fitzsimmons came through the door that led to the bedrooms. She was fastening the belt of her bathrobe around her slim waist.

"What's she doing here?" the woman asked her husband, completely ignoring Clarice who was standingbetween them.

"I was just about to ask her, dear," Mr. Fitzsimmons replied. Clarice turned around to face the man. She wasn't sure if she was motivated more by the thought that she'd probably get more information out of him, or the desire to keep his wandering hands in her line of sight.

"I have a few more questions that came up after you left the scene," she explained.

"We already told you everything," the woman snapped from behind her. Clarice nodded, but didn't turn around.

"I realize it's late, but some discrepancies in the eyewitness reports have come up that may help us in finding the killer," she explained.

"Discrepancies?" the man asked, with a tilt of his head. The gesture reminded her of Dr. Lecter, but she quickly pushed the thought aside. She couldn't afford to be distracted right now. Something in the pit of her stomach told her all was not as it should be.

"Neither you, nor the other couple reported sighting each other before the body was discovered, but the path gives a good line of sight at that point. You should have seen each other when you were still ten minutes apart," Clarice explained her discovery to the man. He laughed and patted his stomach, grown flabby in his middle years.

"It's no wonder they didn't see us," he explained, "they were pretty engrossed in each other."

"Then you did see them?" Clarice asked for clarification.

"Yes, we saw them," the woman confirmed from behind her. "They were coming down the hill when we found the body." Clarice turned to look at her.

"Why didn't you call out to them then? Why did you wait for them to reach you before you asked them to call the police?" Clarice could almost smell the lie that hung heavy in the air.

"My husband went to see if there was anything he could do to help her. I was in shock, and didn't think to call out," the woman stated her eyes locked on Starling's. Behind the woman, Clarice could see an ax murderer hacking his victim to pieces. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' excuse.

"You don't believe me?" the woman asked sarcastically. The woman's smug grin was the last thing Clarice saw as a chloroformed rag was placed over her face. She struggled for a minute and then sank into unconsciousness, supported by the strong arms behind her.

____________

When Dr. Lecter arrived at the park, specified in Clarice's directions, he pulled over about half a block from the crime scene to watch the activity. There was a body bag, on a stretcher, being loaded into an ambulance. Two cop cars were pulling away, but there were still enough law enforcement officials around to warrant the doctor's caution. He would be of no use to Clarice dead. He could see no sign of her car, and came to the conclusion that she must have returned to her hotel and that he had missed her in passing.

He pulled his car smoothly away from the curb, and headed back in the direction he had come from. He would rest easy until he had seen Clarice and told her what he knew about her case. He returned to her room, to find it empty. This was only slightly surprising, because he knew she often stopped at a convenience store for junk food when she was working late. He settled into one of the plastic covered chairs in her room to wait for her.

An hour went by.

Then two.

Dr. Lecter began to worry as the sun came up over the Chicago skyline.

By midmorning, he was wearing a whole in the cheap carpet with his pacing. His mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out where she could be. Surely, she wouldn't have gone back to the station to keep working. There would be no results from forensics or the autopsy until later today. Where else could she be?

He froze as the phone rang. Once, twice. He wondered if it might be her calling, but quickly discarded the idea. After four rings, the hotel's answering service picked up. He waited a minute before picking up the phone to retrieve the message.

"Starling, Inspector Copeland here. Just because you worked late, and went on a wild goose chase to the Fitzsimmons' place doesn't mean you get to sleep in. You may be F.B.I. but this is my case. Get yourself down to the station immediately!"

The doctor's pupils dilated slightly at the name Fitzsimmons, but that was the only indication he gave of his emotions as he reached for the phone book. He quickly scanned the page and committed the address to memory.

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Fitzsimmons, 3456 Maple St.

_____________

Clarice awoke some time in the early morning. The first thing she noticed was a tingling in her fingers. It felt as if something had cut off the circulation. As she opened her eyes, she realized it was the weight of her own body pulling down on the handcuffs that were attached to her wrists. The handcuffs were linked to pieces of chain that were, in turn, secured to large bolts in the ceiling. She wondered where she was, and how long she had been hanging there as she stood to relieve the pressure. She then noticed that her feet were similarly attached to the floor, preventing her movement. Judging from the small windows high in the walls, she guessed she was in a basement. Why and how she was there, she didn't know. She still felt rather groggy, and guessed she'd been drugged. Briefly, she wondered if Doctor Lecter was up to his old tricks, but quickly dismissed the idea. He wouldn't have made her uncomfortable. She began to flex her fists to try to restore some of the feeling.

"I see sleeping beauty finally woke up," a male voice said behind her. Suddenly the fog cleared from Starling's mind and she understood where she was and who was behind her.

"Mr. Fitzsimmons," she acknowledged with a calm voice. A large hand ran down her back and squeezed her ass. He chuckled as she twisted to get away from him. He gave her a light smack before purring in her ear,

"You're gonna be good aren't you baby?"

"Perhaps I should have called you the 'Prostitute Predator'," she said quietly. "The only problem is I'm not a prostitute, and the other police officers know I came here. It won't be long before they're knocking on your door."

"You were here, we answered your questions and you left," he lied easily. "None of the cops were smart enough to figure out there was something funny in our story. They won't see anything odd here either. You'll be dead and found by the time they think to come back. One more victim on the 'Predator's' list."

"So you're going to kill me, dump my body in a park and then hope they don't see the connection between my death and last one." Starling scoffed.

"You've got it pretty much right. Cops only see what they want to see. Except I'm not going to kill you, my wife is," he paused to let that sink in. In Clarice's mind the whole picture clicked, as the reasons behind the anomalies in the case file came clear. They were working as a team. Man and wife. She tensed as his arm came around her waist from behind and he whispered in her ear, "I'm just going to fuck you." Clarice's eyes opened wide as she felt his hand slide up her torso to squeeze her breast. 

At that point, she acted on instinct. She shifted sideways as much as her restraints would allow and lowered her head. Her teeth sunk into the tender flesh of the man's wrist and lower thumb. There was a wet ripping sound as her teeth tore away a chunk of his skin and muscle. He screamed and jumped away from her. He moved around to where she could see him, holding his hand with tears in his eyes.

"Oh, my God. You bitch!" he screamed at her. He looked down at the hand that was splattering blood over the linoleum on the floor. "Where's the rest? I gotta put it back together," he was starting to panic. An unholy light came into Clarice's eyes as she calmly chewed and swallowed, never breaking eye contact with him. His eyes opened even wider than she thought possible. "You bitch!" he repeated. "Just wait til my wife gets through with you. You'll be begging me to take you just so you can die!" he threatened as he ran from the room. Clarice heard the door slam behind him. She won the battle to keep her tears in check. She was more afraid than she could remember being, even when she was down in Gumb's basement. There she had her gun, and was able to move around. She silently cursed her restraints. She had been less afraid at the lake house; somehow, she always knew that the doctor would never harm her while playing their games. How she longed to hear the sound of his voice, and to be able to tell him the things she had realized long ago, but had never been able to say out loud. She knew it was more than likely that she would die, but she didn't regret anything in her life. She acknowledged that he probably already knew what she had wanted to say

- He always did.

Starling heard the door open again, and a lighter step on the floor. Mrs. Fitzsimmons came into her line of sight, dressed in a black tank top and jeans. Starling could see well-toned muscles in her arms, and her eyes widened slightly at the object the woman carried in her hand. Mrs. Fitzsimmons noticed Starling's gaze and allowed her a better look, by allowing the eight-foot long bullwhip to uncoil and rest partly on the ground. She tapped the handle on her thigh as she addressed her captive.

"Nice job on my husband's hand. Something you picked up from Hannibal the Cannibal?" she asked with smirk.

"You might say that," Starling replied calmly ignoring the whip.

"My husband was his patient at one time, when we lived in Baltimore. My husband was charged, after he got caught picking up a prostitute, and sent to mandatory counseling with Dr. Lecter." the woman said. "In fact, I credit Dr. Lecter, with our creative solution for saving our marriage. He told my husband that he wouldn't get any satisfaction from the marriage, unless I was satisfied too. The Doctor told my husband that his actions were undoubtedly causing me a great deal of anger and frustration, and that I would need to find an outlet for that if we were going to make our marriage work. If only he knew how right he was," she chuckled. Her words brought a spark of hope to Clarice. If the doctor knew about Fitzsimmons, it would only be a matter of time until he came to find her. She gave a mental sigh, as she realized she was pinning her hopes on a cannibalistic madman to save her, instead of the law enforcement agency she'd spent her adult life slaving for.

"I see you've noticed my favourite toy," the woman purred, bringing Clarice's attention back to the twitching length of black leather. Clarice remained silent.

"Since I can't kill you yet, I'll save the other toys for later. This will just make you safe enough for my husband to play with for a while," she explained as she moved around behind Clarice. "What do you think? Twenty lashes enough to teach you to be nice?" The end of her sentence was punctuated by a crack of the whip as it caressed Clarice's back for the first time. Starling managed to bite back a gasp at the flash of pain across her shoulders. "I guess my husband won't be able to have you flat on your back after this. It'll ruin my sheets," the woman commented with another crack, but again Clarice stayed silent. "Hmm, the strong and silent type, eh?" she mused, "maybe we'll go until my arm gets tired."

Again and again, the whip cracked over Clarice's back. At fifteen lashes, her sweatshirt was hanging in bloody tatters on her shoulders. The whip continued to bite into her torn and bleeding skin, but still she remained silent. She wouldn't give this bitch the pleasure of hearing her cry out. At thirty-seven, Clarice gratefully fainted into unconsciousness, once more allowing her wrists to support her weight as the whip continued its relentless percussion.

___________

Umm… ya… I gotta go start dinner. All I can say is you were warned. luna.


	8. tidy ends

This is for Chameleon, without whom this would have remained a PWP.

Add the usual 'their not mine'.

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When Clarice woke up again, she was extremely disoriented. Ok girl, she thought to herself as the room came into focus, where are you and what do you see? Across the room she could see slatted wooden doors to a closet and further down the wall an open door, but she couldn't see beyond it. Her sideways view of the world made her realize that she was lying down in a bed. She was lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her waist. She looked down to find herself wearing a white silk shirt. It was big enough to be a man's dress shirt, and it looked like it was on backwards. This left her really puzzled. How had she gotten here? 

She noticed a tightness in her back and she shifted backwards to relieve it. She came up against a very warm, hard object. If she didn't know better she'd think it was another person, and that person was a man. It felt as if her back was resting against a man's chest. She frowned in puzzlement.

"Good evening Clarice," said a voice at her shoulder, made even raspier with sleep. Her eyes opened wide in astonishment. She knew that voice!

"Dr. Lecter!" she exclaimed. What had happened? How had she managed to get herself in bed with Hannibal Lecter, MD? Never mind that she'd imagined this scenario dozens of different ways over the years, but she couldn't remember the events that had brought her to this moment! Her breathing quickened as she began to panic. A strong arm slid around her waist, and he took her cold hand in his warm one.

"Shhhhh, you're quite safe, my dear," he said, giving her hand a little squeeze. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

"No!" she exclaimed, her mind working furiously to come up with the missing information. The edge in her voice brought further soft hums from the doctor. The sound of his voice soothed her, until her heart calmed. The errant thought that she shouldn't be feeling safe in her current situation was dismissed before it was even acknowledged.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked her. She thought for a moment before quietly answering,

"Sneaking into you room at the hotel." This elicited a chuckle from the doctor, which warmed her neck.

"We certainly have fun together, don't we?" he commented.

"Is that where we are now?" she asked.

"Patience, my dear. I'll try to fill in the missing events for you," he replied. "When I arrived back at my room, you had already left, after taking me up on my invitation to use the bath. You also left me a small gift," he prompted.

"My handcuffs," she replied, remembering.

"That's right," he purred against her ear. "I never got the chance to thank you. I went to bed, but I woke up in the middle of the night when I remembered something I thought you needed to know about the case you were working."

"The Prostitute Predator," Clarice said as bits and pieces of the evening started to come back to her. "There was another body found at the park. I went to interview the witnesses. There was something funny about the older couple. Their story didn't sit quite right," Clarice faltered trying to remember.

"Sometimes I curse that gut instinct of yours," the doctor commented ruefully. With that short comment, everything came crashing back to her. Going to the Fitzsimmons, getting drugged, waking up to the repulsive fondling of the man. The whipping administered by the wife.

"Oh God!" Clarice groaned and tucked herself into a ball. The arm around her pulled her closer to the welcomed warmth behind her, being careful of her injured back.

"It's all right. I found you and you're safe now, with me," the doctor told her. She knew he spoke the truth, for the doctor never lied. After a couple deep breaths she asked,

"What happened after I blacked out?"

"I was in your hotel room, when an Inspector Copeland called and left a message demanding you return to work. He made mention of a wild goose chase to the Fitzsimmons. I knew then where you were and what had probably happened." He neglected to mention the emotional roller coaster he'd had to endure while driving to the small bungalow on Maple Street. "I let myself in," at this Clarice chuckled and then gasped as the movement caused a spasm of pain in her back. "Ah, it appears you'll have to wait for the rest of the story. I need to have a look at you back, my dear." His hand moved to her waist and he gently rolled her onto her stomach. He knelt beside her and his quick hands made short work of the buttons on the shirt he'd put her in. He gently lifted the gauze bandage that covered the healing mess that was her back. 

Some of the lashes were so deep that he'd had to stitch them, others he'd left to heal on their own. It was looking much better than it had when he'd found her. It had taken him hours to pick all the fibers of her sweatshirt out of the wounds, before he could even dress it. She would bear the scars for the rest of her life, but they bothered him more than they would her, he was sure. To her they were another example of her courage; to him they were a reminder of his failure when she needed him to protect her. If only he'd clued in sooner, he could have prevented the situation. He shook his head with self-disgust, as he injected more local anesthetic to relieve her pain and then rebandaged her back.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, into the pillow, as if she could read his mind. He looked up startled. "You're not the only one who's good at reading body language, doctor," she elaborated. He hummed a quite affirmation as he gazed down at his little Starling. She WAS his, now all he needed to do was finally convince her of that fact. He did the buttons back up and lay down beside her again. She rolled over to face him for the first time since she woke up and for a moment, he lost himself in her cobalt gaze. He saw no fear in her eyes, and it made him wonder that she, who knew the intimate details of his career, could be at peace in his presence. A small smile graced her lips as she watched him look at her. "You were going to finish your story," she finally prompted. Dr. Lecter blinked once and then took a breath to continue his narrative.

"I let myself in and found Robert passed out on the couch nursing an empty bottle of scotch and a wounded hand. It looked as if someone had taken a chunk out of his thumb with their teeth," he raised an eloquent eyebrow in question. Clarice flushed, as she remembered what she'd done.

"Sometimes you have to work with what you've got," she said defensively. The doctor allowed a smile to cross his face.

"A lesson I hope you remember," he said. "I found you downstairs in quite a state indisposition. I had just managed to release you from your bonds when Mrs. Fitzsimmons came downstairs and attempted to convince me to kill you." Clarice's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Yes," Dr. Lecter replied to her silent question as he unconsciously pulled her closer to him, until she was resting flush against his side. She pillowed her head on his arm, waiting for him to continue. "She seemed to think that I would make a more suitable mate for her, than her husband. In her mind, all that was required was the removal of you and Robert from the scene. She wasn't to happy when I declined her offer." Clarice suddenly lifted her head off his shoulder to look him in the face,

"She didn't hurt you did she?" she asked with concern.

"Who, me?" He asked with a look that said she should know better. Clarice bit her lip, and put her head back down on his shoulder with an apology in her eyes. He also neglected to tell her about the bandage adorning his arm where the woman's whip had touched him before he had yanked it out of her grasp.

"What did you do?" Clarice asked, half of her dreading the answer, but not for the obvious reasons. If he'd killed again, the F.B.I. would be back on his trail, which meant she wouldn't have that much time with him.

"Not wanting to go into detail, let's just say that I gave her a taste of her own medicine and then put her out of her misery. I believe her husband was still asleep, when I telephoned the police with an anonymous tip on the whereabouts of the 'Prostitute Predator'," he said susinctly. The woman's body had been bathed in blood when he'd finally lowered the lash. He'd waited until she woke, before he strangled her with her own whip. Her husband had slept through the entire process upstairs. He thought it fitting that Robert enjoy the fruits of his wife's labour, and had left him to take the rap for the crimes of the Prostitute Predator. There was certainly enough evidence in the house to try and convict him – assuming the police didn't screw up again.

"So they won't know that you were there?" Clarice asked. That question made him pause a moment before answering.

"Are you worried about me, Special Agent Starling? Or are you worried that your friends at the F.B.I. wont show up and save you from my clutches?" he asked in his chilling dungeon voice.

"Something like that," she replied curtly, as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Why did he have to be so cruel? She was slightly dizzy and she had to stop and close her eyes until the feeling passed.

"You might want to get something to eat before you head for the door, you haven't had much for more than two days," he said sharply, wondering what he would do if she actually tried to leave.

"Two days? What's today?" she asked.

"Friday," he answered. It had been a Tuesday night when everything had started.

"I've been out cold for two days?" she asked looking over her shoulder at him in confusion.

"I kept you sedated, because it was easier for you to travel that way," he explained shortly.

"Travel?" Clarice was more confused than before. She stood up carefully and made her way to the bedroom window, where she drew back the curtain to reveal blazing neon lights that blocked out the stars. She could see the Eiffel tower and further away, the Egyptian sphinx. The sight seemed surreal somehow. She turned around so that the bright neon lights shone through the shirt she was wearing, outlining her form underneath. Dr. Lecter enjoyed the view while he waited for her to say something. He had about given up on trying to predict what she was going to say or do next.

"Las Vegas?" she asked with a note of amused disbelief in her voice.

"If by some chance your pals did find some trace of me in Chicago, this is the last place they'd think to look for me," he explained, but she could tell that there was more to it than that.

"They may not be looking for you, but what about me?" she asked.

"I believe that I heard on the radio this morning that you had been counted among the Predators victims, but that your body hadn't turned up yet," he said as if relaying the weather forecast.

"What?!" Clarice exclaimed.

"You heard what I said," Dr. Lecter stated calmly. Clarice moved swiftly as a cat back to the bed, where he was reclining against the pillows.

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter, if you don't explain yourself right now, I'll, I'll…"Clarice spluttered in her frustration.

"You'll what, my dear?" he asked as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her off her feet. She landed squarely on top of him, where he proceeded to wrap his arms around her waist to keep her there. "Need I remind you who you're talking to? I don't like idle threats," he warned.

"Dr. Lecter!" she protested as she tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Careful Clarice, you'll pull out your stitches," he warned. "Besides I thought you wanted an explanation." When she stopped squirming with a resigned sigh, he continued. "I left a few strategic pieces of evidence at the Fitzsimmons, that would indicate your demise."

"Why would you do that?" she asked trying not to squirm again, but the feeling of his hard body under hers was enough to make any girl squirm – with delight.

"I was tired of waiting for you to tire of your relationship with your employer, so I took matters into my own hands. You can still return, but it will take a very creative story to explain the events of the past few days. You're welcome to tell the truth, but I don't know how well that will go over when they find out you let me get away again."

"So basically, you set things up so that either I disappear, a supposed victim of the Predator, or I return to another scandal that will probably cost me my job anyway," she summarized as she propped her elbows on his chest so she could look him in the face.

"I see you have grasped the basic concept," he said condescendingly.

"But I have another option," she replied calmly. His raised eyebrow invited her to continue. "I could always arrest you and return to a promotion and great acclaim," she explained logically. The look of disbelief on his face was comical for a minute, until it turned into smug satisfaction as he settled his arms more firmly around her waist.

"Just how do you propose to do that?" he asked. He hoped she would always want to play their games. She was hurt and trapped, again, and yet she was still able to shock him. This time, however, he would be the winner.

"I am the one in the position of power here," she replied poking him in the chest with a teasing finger to remind him of her superior position. He motioned her to bend down to him. When her ear was level with his mouth he whispered,

"But who has the handcuffs?" She sat upright again with a start as she realized what she had subconsciously done that night, which seemed a lifetime ago. Dr. Lecter watched the dawning realization in her eyes and savoured the moment before he spoke again. "That brings us to the second reason we are in this odious conglomeration of humanity. We need to get married before we leave for Europe." He delighted in the shock that passed over her face.

"But, but, but…" she stammered.

"Shhhh," he whispered as he brought her head back down to his for a long, passionate kiss. He let her up when he realized that she wasn't returning the sentiment. For a moment, he thought he might have made the biggest miscalculation of his life. He relaxed when he saw the look in his Clarice's eyes. Determination and amusement seemed to dance in those blue depths.

"I want a question I can offer a proper reply to," she stated firmly.

"Clarice, will you marry me?" he asked, knowing what she wanted. She smiled a little smile as she leaned down to kiss him. This time she returned all his passion and more. The thought came back to her that he always knew, often even before she did herself. When she lifted her head to take a breath, she sighed one word,

"Yes."

__________

Ta da!! Tis done, and the next one is brewing – I finally got to watch Hannibal the DVD this week – lots of food for thought! Watch for a new story after Easter. luna.


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